


Like A Garter Belt To The Head

by darksquirrel



Series: Change of Atmosphere [8]
Category: Grimm (TV)
Genre: Dancing, Gen, Happy Ending, Humor, Love, Weddings, silliness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-17
Updated: 2013-05-17
Packaged: 2017-12-12 02:54:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,062
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/806342
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/darksquirrel/pseuds/darksquirrel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Monroe is not allowed to wear flannel to the wedding.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Like A Garter Belt To The Head

_**Notes:**_ For **paburke** who wanted Rosalee and **watching Monroe stumble around that possible relationship... (I want him to have a happy ending too).**  
Guest **Livia** who asked: **Do we get to see the wedding?**  
And **littlebounce** who put this insidious idea in my head: **romantic Monroe taking Rosalee dancing and these two others 'tango jousting', ie ramming each other off the dance floor in the medieval style, with arms shoved out in front of them like poles...very mature.**

_**Warnings:**_ Gobs and gobs of schmoopy happiness. Gobs. Monroe not in flannel! I know!

 

() () ()

 

“You know what this makes me think about?” Rosalee murmured, voice a little muffled where her cheek was resting on his shoulder.

Monroe felt every muscle in his body freeze up in a split second of utter terror at all the things dancing at a _wedding_ could possibly make her think about. The list was long and varied, ranging from possible medicinal uses of the tulips and greenery that made up the centerpieces to the complete lack of zithers in the music to, well, _weddings_!

“Uh, no, uh, I can’t imagine.”

Rosalee lifted her head, giving him one of her looks that said he’d just done something she found both amusing and adorable. He saw a lot of those looks. “I should say children,” she smirked, “but I think you’d have a heart attack right here on the dance floor.”

He squeezed her a little tighter and said, “I wouldn’t mind a pup or two. At some point. In the future.”

Rosalee smiled. It was his second favorite smile, soft and sweet (his most favorite smile was remarkably similar but had a little wicked twist to it and he usually only got to see it when she had just come up with a genius plan or when…well, a gentleman didn’t tell). “I think you’ll make a great papa wolf,” she said.

He was pretty sure he had a ridiculously goofy smile on his face and hid it against Rosalee’s hair, narrowly avoiding a mouthful of curls from her fancy up-do. She’d abandoned her shoes once the crowd had thinned out and he was excruciatingly aware of squishably bare toes in close proximity to his size elevens.

It was late enough they were down to the wedding party and a few close friends. The DJ had been bribed into sticking around for a couple extra hours but he’d packed up almost everything except the necessaries and had joined one of the few occupied tables for cake and conversation. There were only two other couples on the dance floor, Hank and Juliette’s six year old niece, and Juliette’s parents swaying together in their own separate little world.

Over at the big table, Juliette had Nick’s suit jacket around her shoulders and her feet in Nick’s lap, acres of lace and white satin spilling around them. They were sitting with Juliette’s youngest brother, an uncle whose name Monroe couldn’t remember, and a couple of her childhood friends who still lived in the area and didn’t have a long drive home.

“But that isn’t what this makes you think about,” Monroe prompted when Rosalee fell silent.

She smiled up at him. “I was just remembering our first date.”

“Vegi dogs at the food cart?” He was hard pressed to draw comparisons between Nick and Juliette’s wedding and that rainy Portland day a year and a half ago when they’d grabbed lunch in between a stop at one of Rosalee’s herb suppliers and a trip to the farmer’s market.

“No, our first _official_ date.” She leveled a mock glare. “We’re not counting the vegi dogs.”

Ohhhhhh _that_ date.

“You were wearing the same suit.” She smoothed a hand down the lapel of his charcoal grey three-piece. “And you were very handsome in it.”

Monroe may have preened. A little. There had been talk about getting tuxedos early on, but much to _everyone’s_ relief they’d discovered that most of the groomsmen had very similar suits already in their closets.

Juliette had fought long and hard to keep the ceremony simple but had conceded to her Mother’s big-white-wedding wishes in other ways such as the dress and the reception. Nick, wisely, had mostly stayed out of it and agreed with whatever Juliette wanted and spent a lot of time hiding out at Hank or Monroe’s.

“And we went dancing at the Crystal Ballroom after dinner.”

That had been a great night. Good company, good food, good wine….

“And during the tango you started dance-jousting with that pair of _klaustreich_ who kept running into us.”

Maybe a little _too_ much wine.

“I started dance-jousting,” Monroe repeated incredulously. “First of all, I don’t think that’s actually a thing. And secondly, as I recall it was you who said—and I’m quoting here— _bring it_.”

“That was the fourth time he bumped into us,” she sniffed. “Deliberately.”

“I liked it,” Monroe whispered into her ear. “You getting all feisty and showing that kitty cat who was boss.” They’d danced the other couple right off the floor. Literally. He hadn’t even minded that Rosalee had taken over lead.

He felt more than heard her chuckling against his chest.

They shuffled back around and the newlyweds came into view again. One of Juliette’s brothers was in the middle of a story that involved a lot of _dramatic_ arm waving and Juliette hiding her face in her hands. Nick was laughing so hard he looked like he might fall out of his chair, which would probably lead to a tragic death by suffocation among the folds of Juliette’s dress.

“This is really nice,” Rosalee said, leaning her cheek on his shoulder again.

Monroe rested his chin on top of her head. She always smelled like the spices and teas she sold and _fuchsbau_ and freesia scented shampoo. “Just about perfect.”

The End

 

_Notes:_ Okay, that’s it for a bit. Probably. I’m going to buckle down and actually work on the long non-COA fic I’ve been trying to do forever. But I know I’ll need a break from that now and then and I have a list of requests and suggestions bouncing around in my head so stay tuned.

Thanks to everyone who read and reviewed and Favorited and put vicious plot bunnies in my brain. I’m sure that’s a wesen. The plot bunny of DOOM! Uh, yeah….must go write…something.


End file.
